


all at once

by allskynostars



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Little but of Christmas angst in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22364809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allskynostars/pseuds/allskynostars
Summary: Four Christmases spread over the years of Betty & Jugheads relationship.As friends, together, apart, as one.(This is my bughead secret santa gift for fishhoeksunrise. I am eternally sorry for how late it is, but i hope you enjoy!)
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 12
Kudos: 111
Collections: Bughead Secret Santa





	all at once

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FishHoekSunrise73](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishHoekSunrise73/gifts).



> forgive me any mistakes, be it spelling or tensing or just plain story writing, i'm a bit rusty xx

** as friends **

**  
**

Betty hears him before she sees him, his rapid hits on the side of the vending machine echoing down the near empty halls. She knows for sure it’s him, because he’s muttering under his breath about the _state of student facilities_ and _i just want the pack of cheetos, you useless machine._

“You know the only vending machine that complies with demands is on the third floor.” 

He must be startled, because he jumps for a brief moment before turning realising who had caught him mid-rant. 

“Well, I guess I was hoping for a Christmas miracle, or something,” he sighs, giving one last shove to the machine. The Cheeto’s fall then, accompanied by a packet of peanut butter cups and a Twix. “Aha! Clearly the big man was listening!” 

“The big man?” Betty asks, arms folded. 

“Santa, duh,” Jughead replies, strolling over to where Betty leans against the wall. He offers her a smile and a peanut butter cup, the latter of which she refuses. 

They both live on the same floor, so they walk aimlessly towards their seperate rooms side by side. Jughead opens his cheetos, apparently unable to wait until he reaches his room. He’s mid mouthful as he asks Betty, 

“When do you leave for home?” 

“Tonight,” she sighs, not at all looking forward to the 4 hour drive to Riverdale. The weather app that she’s been checking multiple times today continues to tell her driving conditions are ideal, as much as she wishes some sort of blizzard would blow in from who cares where and trap her here instead, it seems so very unlikely. 

Anything not to deal with the fake-it-till-you-make-it Coopers this year. 

“Leaving it late, aren’t you Coop? It’s already christmas eve.” 

“The less time at home, the better, trust me,” she assures him. “What about you?” 

“I’m not,” he informs her nonchalantly, wiping his Cheeto dust fingers on the side of his jeans. “As dull as it sounds, I’d much prefer the company of myself then my father who’s decided Christmas is the perfect time to start drinking again.” 

They’ve reached her door now, his is further down the hall, around the corner. Betty doesn’t turn to her door, doesn’t feel as though this is a conversation she wants to just cut short, so she turns to face him instead. 

“Jug,” she can hear the pity in her voice and hates it. Sorry never seems to be the right word with Jughead, he cares little for niceties and even less for sympathy. That’s something you learn quick in his company, it took only took Betty all of a week of meeting him to realise he wasn’t big on conversations that dove into anything related to his hometown or his family. So she never pushed, just took and gathered tidbits of information he felt comfortable enough to share. 

Now, at the end of their first semester, she’s pieced together part of his story. An alcoholic father, a mother who abandoned him and took his sister with him. There doesn’t seem to be much other family to speak of, except his best friend, Archie, who Betty has yet to meet. 

Jughead is her best, nay, only true friend she’s made at NYU. The thought of where she could be without his advice, guidance, and endearing sarcasm is unspeakable. 

“You can’t spend Christmas on your own, Jughead.” 

He shrugs, half a twix hanging out of his mouth. 

“I’m not that bothered, honestly.” He holds up his gathering from the vending machine, even though he’s already managed to make a dent in it before he’s even back to his room. “What more could a guy ask for, really?” 

He looks genuine, she thinks, like the idea of spending christmas on his own really does not bother him. It doesn’t sit right with her. 

“Okay so crazy idea but, I’m sure if I asked my—” Her ringtone cuts her short, and she shoots Jughead an apologetic look as she pulls her phone from her pocket. “Shoot.” 

“It’s fine,” He says around another mouthful of cheeto. Signaling in the direction of his room, he salutes Betty with a hand to his forehead and walks aimlessly down the hall. 

She watches him for a second, then groans inwardly as she pushes her door open, swinging it shut before sliding to accept the call. 

“Hi, Mom. What’s up?” 

“Elizabeth,” she answers curtly, “have you left yet?” 

Betty rolls her eyes, aware that nobody else is around to notice. 

“Not yet.” She doesn’t recognise her voice whenever she’s speaking to her mother, and it drives her insane. “I’m just about to pack up some things and then—”

“Well get on with it, will you? It’s already 3 in the afternoon. By the time you get here, it’ll be gone 7. I told you, you should have come home yesterday and have been here for Christmas Eve.” 

There was no way Betty was leaving for Riverdale any earlier than she had to. Alice Coopers clipped tones and backhanded compliments were enough to deal with on an average day, but at Christmas, it’s tenfold. 

Betty is aware that her mother is continuously rambling into her phone, something about having to explain her absence to pastor Muggs, and fielding questions about her choice of degree because _honestly, Betty, psychology? what a load of codswallop,_ but she can’t help her mind wandering back to Jughead, and how she would rather spend her Christmas with a like minded friend than her own family. 

And why shouldn’t she?

“You know, after everything that happened with Polly, I really thought you would have more consideration for me and your father, and—”

“Actually, Mom, as it turns out, I can’t make it. Tell dad I say Merry Christmas, won’t you?” She hangs up before her mother can get any form of a response in. 

It’s kind of uplifting, to hang up on Aice Cooper. Also, slightly terrifying when there is a guaranteed, inevitable backlash. She won’t think about that now, though. 

Instead, she picks up her backpack and empties out the numerous textbooks until she can swing it empty over her shoulder. Picking up her purse on the way out the door, she heads in the direction of the stairs. 

If she’s going to do it, she’s going to do it right. 

So she near empties the vending machine on the third floor, packing everything into her backpack. With at least a few packets of every option, she decides her haul is worthy enough, and heads back up the staircase. 

His face is hard to read as he opens his bedroom door, after she’s knocked definitely more than three times. There’s black hair sticking out in all directions atop his head, and a speck of chocolate in the corner of his mouth.

“Betty?” 

“Merry Christmas Juggie!” She greets, holding her jam packed bag toward him like an offering. “Want some company? My plans fell through, last minute.” 

The smile that slowly erupts across his face makes it decidedly much easier to read.

  
**  
**

** together**

****  


Meeting a SO’s parents is always nerve-wracking, regardless of the situation. 

But for it to happen at Christmas? Jughead has seriously started to consider what kind of crimes he committed in a past life to deserve such a fate. 

The thing was, he knew he didn’t have to agree. His ever understanding girlfriend knows his family history, knows how actively he tries to avoid any and all situations that he’s not comfortable with, and she would have understood if he’d said no. 

But Betty Cooper, with her expressive eyes and a smile to rival the stars, deserved a boyfriend that at least wanted to try.

_There’s also the little fact that she ditched her family for him on Christmas last year and feels like he owes her this one._

So that’s how he ended up here, in his own personal hell. Sat around a grand table, on Christmas Day, during the dessert course, trying to answer the hundreds of questions per minute that Betty’s parents are firing at him. 

The first few rounds had been easy enough, questions regarding their relationship and his interest in their daughter, but now they’d started with questions hinting towards his own past. 

“So Jug Head, were your family okay with you spending Christmas away from them this year?” 

“Uh..” he starts, not really sure of what angle to take here. There’s a soft knock against his ankle, he looks up and catches eyes with Betty. She shoots him an apologetic look, he shakes head softly, _it’s okay._ He clears his throat before answering. “Yes, Mrs Cooper, my father was fine with it.” 

Alice purses her lips before taking another small sip out of her wine glass. She tilts her head, as if sizing him up, before asking “and your mother?” 

There’s a loud clang as Betty drops her spoon back into her bowl, causing everyone to look in her direction. 

“Mom, we discussed this, I –”

Alice doesn’t look the least bit concerned with her daughter's reaction. 

“Well dear, I’m simply asking Jug Head here questions to get to know him better.” 

Jughead stands abruptly, meaning to excuse himself to the bathroom, but in the process knocks over his own still full wine glass over the stark white table cloth. 

“I–”

“Jug–”

“Shit” _Shit_. Jughead glances around the table, seeing expressions of shock and surprise on both of Betty’s parents. Hal stands up and heads to the kitchen, and Jughead catches him saying something like _not too worry, it’s just a spill._

But Alice hasn’t really taken her eyes off him, with her pursed lips and judgemental stare, and Jughead feels his whole body freeze momentarily. Hal comes back and starts moving things aside, dabbing at the spill. 

Jughead is still just standing there, frozen, like the biggest _idiot_. 

“B-bathroom,” he stammers, managing to pull himself away from Alice’s stare and the tremendously awkward moment, walking as fast as his feet will take him to the stairs.

He hears Betty excuse herself to follow him, of course she does, upstairs and into the room she’d shown him earlier, where to put the few belongings he bought with him. Her childhood bedroom. 

There’s so many aspects of Betty in this room, and yet so many things that _aren’t_ here that should be. There’s no true crime books tucked away on the shelf, no post it notes littered above her desk, no empty packets of those rice crackers she’s always snacking on in her study time. 

Things that fit with who Betty is now, as an adult. As his. 

And he _knows_ her, knows her better than anyone, and thinks about how wonderful of a person she is. Betty’s told him snippets of her childhood, of a controlling mother and aloof father. He can’t help but admire how different she turned out from those who raised her. How kind and caring, how loving she is towards him…

He knows it then, and this realisation, it hits him square in the chest. 

“Oh god, what have I done?” He’s asking no one in particular, or maybe himself, or maybe whatever higher power there may be that allowed this to happen to him. 

“What?” Betty asks frantically, crossing over her room to take Jughead’s hand. “It’s fine, my mum will get over the spillage, it’s no big deal -”

“What have I done,” he repeats, this time in a hushed tone under his breath, his eyes trained on the floor. Betty takes in a deep breath, the hold on his hand faltering for a moment. 

“I’m sorry, Juggie, for making you come here.” Her voice is low. 

_Sorry?_ He looks up then, catching her gaze within the vice if his own. The look on her wearing, he never wants to see that pass across her face again. Betty wants to look away, he can tell, look anywhere but into this internal battle he’s very obviously having. There’s no other choice, though, but to just come out with it. It took him six fucking months to pluck up the courage to ask her out on a date after their Christmas soirée, he’d already wasted so much _time._

“I’ve fallen in love with you.” 

_What._

“What?” Betty drops his hand, he presumes out of shock, so he quickly snatches it back between his own and pulled her closer to him.

“I’m in love with you,” he makes his voice as clear as possible, making sure not to leave any trace of doubt. Betty has her lip between her teeth, and he wants nothing more than to lean forward and consume her, but he needs to tell her first. “Betty, I agreed to spend christmas with your parents, even after all the stories you’ve told me about them,” she laughs at that light and airy, encouraging him on, “and seeing you here, it proves how strong you are, you came out so kind and caring and so _you_. How could I not love you?” 

A single tear falls from Betty’s face, but she’s smiling so brilliantly. Her arms wrap around his neck and pull her to him before he has the chance, and she crashes her mouth to his. She tells him against his lips, with her hands in his hair. 

“I love you too,” she presses her lips ever so slightly to his own, “Merry Christmas, Juggie.” 

****

**  
**

** apart **

**  
  
  
**

Betty can’t remember the last uneventful christmas eve she had. It’s been four years since that night she stood in front of Jugheads door with arms full of vending machine food and her heart on her sleeve, all of which Jughead claimed that night. 

Even if it took him six months to realise. 

This christmas is the last before Jugheads final semester, but she still has another year left. That had been the topic of conversation turned argument this morning, before they were both supposed to embark on the four hour drive to Riverdale. 

Jughead had been offered an internship at the Boston Globe before he’d even graduated, it’s a credit to his writing talent and ability, Except, he wanted to turn it down and stay near campus, near her. She’d argued, obviously, about how ridiculous he sounded. 

“Well fine, if you want us to be apart, may as well start now huh?” 

That’s how Betty showed up at her parents for christmas alone, with red eyes and a lump in her throat. It’s the most serious fight they’d ever had, and it scared the crap out of her. All Betty wants to do is sleep the fight, the tears, and the day away. 

Sleep evades her, of course. She’s about to find her headphones and try to distract herself with a podcast, when her phone rings from the bedside table.

She knows it’s him before she even sees the name _Juggie_ across the screen, and take in a deep breath before answering. 

“Hi,” her voice is quiet, partly because of the late hour, and also because it’s the first time they’ve spoken since their fight. 

“Hey, you.” She’s still so mad at him, but his words come out defeated and completely devoid of anger. There’s no fight left in him. “Are you okay?”

‘I’ve been better,”she tells him honestly. He sighs through the phone, and she can see the look he’s wearing so clearly. 

“What did you tell your parents?” 

“The truth.” Betty picks at a loose thread on her pajama pants as she speaks, knowing that she has to be honest with him. “I wasn’t going to lie to them, Jughead. I’m not doing that anymore.” 

“I know. I-I’m sorry, Betty.” 

“I know, Jug,” she sighs, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand. “It’s fine, it’s totally fine.” 

It’s not. 

“It’s not. It’s not at all fine.” There’s a pause, the only sound Betty can hear is Jughead breathing out through his nose, his frustration obvious. She doesn’t try to fill the silence, or agree that what he had said wouldn’t have some sort of consequence. “I’m so scared of losing you, and I am constantly fighting with a voice in my head that tells me you’re too good for me, because it’s not like I don’t already know that.” 

“Jug,” she interrupts. 

“Let me finish, Betty. I gotta.. I gotta get this out.”  
There’s another pause as she waits for him to find the words. 

“I am so sure of you, of all of this, of.. us. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life that you’re it for me. But I can’t stop fighting this stupid internal battle that I don’t deserve you. Or, in better words, you deserve far better than me. I feel like I am a phoney, like I landed a role in this major motion picture because they played the wrong audition tape and cast the wrong guy.” 

She can’t help but laugh at his ridiculous analogy. If he noticed, it doesn’t stop him.

“But fuck that, because I want this, and you. I want you in an apartment thats _ours_ , I want you to get in my way in the bathroom, I want you in my space and in my bed. I want to watch you cook and make you laugh and make you come, I want to watch you walk down the aisle to me.” 

That catches her off guard, they’d never spoke of marriage or anything of the like. She wants to interrupt him there, ask him if he means it, but he continues before she can.

“I’m going to own it now, Betty, my shitty moods and my reckless behaviour. I’m going to fess up to my bullshit and call myself out. I’m an asshole. And you deserve someone who’s so much better, at the very least better spoken,” he laughs at himself then, a huff of air through his nose. He sighs heavily before speaking again. “But by the grace of whatever the fuck is out there, you love me. A hell of a lot. And I’m not going to take that for granted, because I’ve never had that, but now I know exactly how it feels, and honestly, there’s nothing better. There is nothing better in this world than being loved by you, Betty Cooper. So, I’m going to take the internship.” 

“I’m proud of you, Jug.” 

“Whats a year right? We’re stronger than a year apart.” He sounds like he’s trying to covince himself, but Betty _knows_ they are. 

“Are you quite finished, Jughead Jones?” She can barely speak through her cheek splitting smile. Relief flushes through her whole body and seeps into her voice. “Was there a proposal somewhere in there?” 

“No.” He snorts. “Shit Well, I mean, kind of, but that’s something I would do not over the fucking phone. I promise.” 

They both sigh into the phone, and she knows the fight is over. Jughead saw what she was trying to tell him, and as hard as a year apart will be, it’s nothing in the grand scheme of forever. Because that’s what they have here, forever. 

“I miss you. I wish you were here,” Betty tells him, as she snuggles down into her duvet. He groans in what she presumes is agreeance. 

“I can drive out tomorrow. Hell, I’ll leave right now if you want me to?” 

“As much as I would love you here, it’s probably easier to just stay home. I think it might take a few christmases before she forgive you.” There’s not even a need to clarify who she is, Jugheads knows well enough. 

He groans again, this time in defeat. 

“She’ll get over it,” Betty reassures him.

“Will you?” He asks, his voice quiet and unsure for the first time this phone call. 

“All that you said earlier, it’s the same for me Juggie. I promise.” She means it, more than anything. 

‘’I love you, Betty.” 

“I know.” She pauses, a smirk growing on her face as she says, “I’d say yes, by the way.” 

“Hm?” 

“If you were actually asking for real, I’d say yes”.

He’s silent for a moment, and as Betty glances to the alarm clock on her bedside table she realises it’s past midnight. “ Merry Christmas Juggie.”

** **

  
  


**as one**   
  


Two minutes.

That’s all the time it takes for Betty to regret agreeing to host christmas at their place this year. Two minutes into deciding how to lay the table, and she’s had enough. She takes a deep breath, decides she prefers the champagne flutes to the standard wine glasses, removes them from the table and returns them back to the china cabinet. 

She looks up then, as he comes into their dining room, smiling at his bed hair and creased flannel pajama pants. Her husband. 

“Betts, you’ve been here for like, an hour already,” he murmurs, stifling a yawn and rubbing sleep from his eyes. Jughead pads over to her, wraps his arms around her waist and nuzzles her neck. “It’s just plates and cutlery, babe, what’s the big deal?” 

“Jug, you have met my mother, haven’t you?” 

He groans into her neck, places a soft kiss to the underside of her jaw and pulls away. 

“Right, good point. What can I do to help?” 

If she’s completely honest, she would much rather do this all herself, at least then she knows it’s all absolutely up to her mother's standards. But he’s offered to help, and he sounds genuine, so she gives him strict instructions to set the rest of the table exactly the same as the single layout she’s (finally) decided on. 

Betty helps him remove the rest of the glasses and plates from the cabinet, because although he’ll never admit it, he really can be a clutz at times, then she heads to the kitchen to start the rest of the food prep. 

It takes a good few hours, even with Jughead offering his services after he’s finished laying the table (and Betty has inspected it). He claims two sets of hands work better than one, but with his roaming more over her body than his set tasks, she’s really not sure that’s true. 

_(She’s not complaining.)_

The dinner goes remarkably well, especially considering it’s the first blended Cooper-Jones christmas on record. Jughead’s father, FP Jones, seems to have somehow charmed his way into Alice’s good books by the end of dinner, much to her father's chagrin, and that makes all the difference. 

They all sat around and played a few rounds of scattergories before JB needed to leave and see her girlfriend, and since FP was her designated sober driver, he left alongside her. Betty’s parents left shortly after, once Alice was quite certain that Betty’s kitchen was as spotless as possible. 

She’s standing in the doorway, waving her parents goodbye as they back down the driveway, when Jugheads arms wrap around her middle, pulling her back inside and closing the door shut with his foot. 

“Do you remember our first christmas? When you abandoned your family to feast on vending machine food with me?” Jughead breath is warm against her ear. Betty turns in his direction and wraps her arms slowly around his waist, pulling herself closer to him. 

“You consider that our first christmas?” She asks, quirking her brow. 

“Well, yeah. You showed up at my door with basically a whole machine worth of food. You knew the way to my heart, even then. I was doomed.” He leaned forward, his lips a whisper against her own. 

“Doomed, huh?” She whispers. He places a light kiss against her mouth and pulls back, his arms still around her waist. 

“In the best way, obviously.” He smiles warmly. “You know, I think that’s still my favourite christmas.” 

“Ever?” Betty thinks about the christmasses they’ve had together over the last 10 years. As friends, together, apart.. And this one, this one is definitely going to be her favourite. 

“What tops that? It was the start of this,” he signals between the two of them. 

“I might have something that tops it.” She takes in a deep breath, and squeezes her eyes shut briefly before diving in. “The start of.. Something else?” 

He raises a brow, confused. “How many glasses of wine have you had tonight, Mrs Jones?” 

“None,” she says quietly, above a whisper, shaking her head. Jughead looks as though he wants to laugh, before realisation dawns across his face. His eyes flash down to her abdomen for less than a second before they are back, boring into her own. 

“Are you?” He whispers, a layer of uncertainty in his voice. 

She can’t bear to speak for fear of bursting into tears, so she smiles so broadly it hurts her cheeks and nods her head. 

“Holy shit, Betty!” He wraps his arms around her tightly and spins them around, unable to contain his happiness. He puts her two feet back on the floor, and grabs her face between his hands, crashing his lips against hers with fervour. She can barely make out his face through her tears, but she can _feel _how happy he is at the news. “God, I can’t believe we’re going to have a little mini you,” he exclaims, her face still in his hands.__

__“Or a mini you,” she replies sweetly, as he wipes her tears away with the pads of his thumbs._ _

__“You will never know how grateful I am for you, and that vending machine, Betty Cooper.” He places the softest of kisses to the tip of her nose, and she feels as though her heart could burst right out through her chest._ _

__“Merry Christmas, Juggie.”_ _


End file.
